And I laughed. A genuine laugh of being tickled at how strange and messy my life as a farmer can be.

I was covered in mud, crawling on pavement to roll up the landscape fabric I mindlessly burned holes in for the last hour in the wind and rain. I previously had been crawling in the mud trying to secure some tarps with my husband and friend. Before that we had stuffed my irrigation and field equipment into my van before driving it out to the field, praying we wouldn’t get stuck. Oh and we moved a lot of stuff around. It was cold, wet, windy, and very dirty.

See how glamorous?

I laughed because I didn’t care. Sure, I didn’t enjoy getting buffeted by the wind. I certainly didn’t enjoy cleaning up the equipment that had been chewed on by rodents. Smelling roses was infinitely better than burning plastic, but burning holes in landscape fabric was a part of my job that day. My husband worked half the day and when I came home and recapped the rest of my day, I recognized that despite working hard and being entirely filthy, I was still energetic and speaking lively about the most mundane, gross things (lucky him).

Because it was spring again and the world was waking up again and I was so alive.

A great deal of farming is pure drudgery: repetitive, hard, and often messy work. But when we farmers get together, we will admit a certain, strange joy and meditation in it all. Of course we get tired and of course we have our “Mondays” that we dread, but we wouldn’t do it for just the beauty. We do it for the hard work too.

There are obvious rewards in my work. The blooming flowers. The butterflies and hummingbirds. The clear, perfect sunny days that just feel delicious. The look on people’s faces at market—child and adult alike—of pure, unconscious joy when they look at the flowers.

But then there are other rewards, less digestible on an Instagram feed. Plunging my hands into moist soil. Feeling sore when I go to bed. Free streaming sweat with no judgement of sweat stains. Pushing my body during hard work so it feels like it sings.

Part of the reason you see this less is because its hard to photograph—its a little hard to whip out my iPhone while moving a 100 pound wheelbarrow of wet compost. But its also because farmers are a bit afraid to buck the bucolic trend: show people the beauty, the sweet and tender, the interesting, and occasionally a sad tale of struggle (but not too many!). But never show people the grit.

In the flower farmer world, I feel this particularly, and am sometimes envious of my veggie growing brethren who I believe have more leeway in this. People seem to give them more respect for the grit and being more mixed gender community, its less precious than the flower world.

I think because flower farmers are tied to such beautiful, delicate farm product, that somehow people like to envision us wearing beige linen dresses, slowly walking through fields of wildflowers with a basket in one hand, pruners in the other. You think I’m exaggerating, but I can tell by people’s questions about the farm that sometimes this is not far from their dreamscapes.

I saw a somewhat famous flower farmer speak at a conference once and she said “People want to see the glitter. They don’t want to see a tired, grumpy, dirty farmer with bags under their eyes. Go inside, change, even put on some makeup and go back out and shoot the photo. Then go back to work. They want glitter. Give them the glitter.”

I found this statement filled me with an odd mix of rage, shame, guilt, questioning, stubbornness, and rage again.

Rage at giving people a staged, if beautiful lie.

Shame because I was not really doing what she instructed (and I generally look like mud-pie from Peanuts on a regular basis).

Guilt because this farmer speaking was very successful—didn’t I owe it to myself and my company to take advice to better succeed?

Questioning because how divorced were people from the land if they had forgotten that farming is a dirty, difficult work?

Stubbornness because I believed we as a culture had entered a new era of agriculture and I believed that people could appreciate the beauty along with the hard work.

Rage again because I didn’t become a farmer to wear damn makeup to work.

And who the hell actually likes glitter? It just makes an annoying, unnecessary mess.

So I try to strike a balance: show people the gorgeous, but also show them the strange and unusual, the hilarious, the tender-hearted.

And show them some grit.

Is there inherent harm in letting people have a less than accurate vision of flower farming? Yes and no. On the one hand, I understand entirely that the world can be a frightening, messy, and depressing place. Taking in some beauty for a few hours lifts the spirit. I do believe beauty can heal. The problem is when that beauty is used as an insulated cocoon, creating a false shelter to the point where people become blinded about what agriculture—and the world at large—is really like. I also deeply worry that by us farmers manufacturing scenes of blissful blooming bounty that people undervalue our work. Isn’t living our pastoral, peaceful lives surrounded by such bounty payment enough?

No it is not because sadly that doesn’t pay the bills. In the flower world we like to say “flowers put food on the table too”—meaning, there’s hard work that translates into the economy just as much as edible agriculture.

Lastly, if we only show the beauty, we also miss the opportunity to share our true, secret farmer love: the work.

So consider this post from the gritty side of my work and life. Enjoy and I’ll go back to the mud now.

This time of year, we farmers are in quiet attention. Watching the weather and our soil, waiting for the best time to start our work. Too wet, our machinery gets mired in mud and damages our soil. Wait too long and you will spend much of the season chasing after the weeds.

The word we use for preparing our fields for growing crops is cultivation. It is only April 1st but I have been cultivating fields outside the farm all winter long. Field and cultivate are two words of multiple meanings. A field is an open area; it is also a course of study. To cultivate is prepare an area for growing crops, but it is also to improve by labour, care, and study.

What I love about farming and gardening is the potential duality of it: the work is physical and intellectual. I spend the winter making plans, researching, studying--looking for ways to improve farming techniques and systems and then I spend the growing season putting them to action, observing how my decisions play out in real life conditions.

This winter, I spent a lot of time thinking how I do things, trying to figure out how I can improve and make the gardens healthier and more productive. But a farm business is not just a field. It’s a business. There are financial and marketing plans to consider. It is also a collection of people working towards common goals and an art. So although I rejigged my farm systems, read a lot about insect ecology, and tweaked my website and accounting, the most important part of my winter was spent reading books about how to work and how to live. It could not have come at a better time.

I wrote about this in a New Year’s journal post, about a speaker I saw in December, who blew me away with her deep search to improve both her farm and her and her family’s quality of life. She shared a photo of the books on her nightstand. I took some of these and some books on my own reading list and set up my field of study: how to cultivate better work and life skills and habits to improve my well-being and hopefully, the well-being of the people who work with me and the farm itself.

Books for being a better farmer

And now I have a plan to set into motion along with my crop plan, my systems, my marketing that can be summarized to these points:

Work less, but deeper.

Work and rest need one another.

Choose your tools carefully and use them wisely.

Structure and commitment give room to freedom, not restrict it.

And finally, the guiding question: Does this enrich or impoverish my personal and business values?

Work less, but deeper

A few weeks ago, I spent time reviewing the hours I spent farming for the last two years. At peak season, I was clocking in 60-70 hours of work. It was a reality check, seeing those numbers on my spreadsheet. It was unsustainable and I vowed to work better, not longer.

Therefore, I made plans on how to support myself and my team better in those busy times. I have created set hours for us. I made solid, well-thought out plans to provide structure, so when I’m tired and flying about, the road is laid out for me clearly. I also forced myself to admit the ways I can sometimes fritter away time, which ultimately leads to me losing my free time to rest. I tried to cultivate new habits.

Work and rest need one another.

I have strived to make time to rest and recuperate, but never understood really, until reading further, how rest actually contributes to your work. Rest is not meant to be a passive thing. Active, but different, work happens in our brains and bodies while at rest. However, when you work to exhaustion, that activity nosedives. My sleep, hobbies, wanders, and daydreams make me not only happier and healthier; they make me a better farmer.

Choose your tools carefully and use them wisely.

When I first started farming, I had this hoe. I had read about it in a book and purchased it for the spring. And I could just not figure out the best way to utilize it. “But the book said it was the best,” I said to myself, trying a number of times to make it work. Meanwhile, I kept borrowing my friend’s tool, which worked great. The next year, the weird hoe sat unused and I purchased the the same one my friend used. The following year, I gave away the weird one. It wasn’t the right tool for me and trying to use it was a waste of time and energy.

There are many equivalents off-farm to this: softwares, record keeping systems, social media tools. Especially the later I examined closely and had to admit: Facebook wasn’t working for me. So I’ve deleted my business page. A continuous theme also across my reading: use social media with care. This wasn’t a warning from Luddites. It was a matter of neurology. Of addiction that is specifically written into these programs. Deleting all of my social media profiles was not an option: the are still good tools for storytelling, sharing news and events, and for being part of distant communities. However, a saw can cut wood and it can also cut you, if your not careful. Use mindfully.

Structure and commitment give room to freedom, not restrict it.

I have a weekly calendar above my desk where much of my waking days are now scheduled. I used to cringe at this sort of thing. I made it through the worst of school by keeping a tight schedule, but wasn’t part of being an entrepreneur about fighting for the freedom of my own schedule and commitments? Parkinson’s law is also on my board above my desk: work expands to fill the time allotted to it. Working from a structured schedule, from past experiments, I knew worked, but hadn’t been rigorous with it. I also had over-scheduled myself and hadn’t supported myself with healthy ways to rest and de-stress. This year I hope with finite hours and tasks balanced with active rest, I actually had the chance to succeed.

Does this enrich or impoverish my personal and business values?

After narrowing in on what are my key values, I needed a simple decision making tool to run choices through. Does this enrich or does this impoverish was a sentence written in one of the books and it clicked. There are so many exterior forces that impinge on decisions. Being someone that generally likes to make others happy and satisfied, I have trouble saying no if it means disappointing. While I think there are times in people’s lives to say yes to many things, that is not the time for me. I did that in my 20s and had a diverse array of experiences that I value very much. But now, I realize is a time of focus, slowing down, thinking deeper, speaking less and observing more (yes, the irony of this long journal post does not elude me).

So I will report back. Tell you how we do with these plans. Stay tuned to the journey.

I have sweet pea dreams. Colourful, giant blossoms with scent that carries for miles. I love their names and the stories that go with them. I love that somehow there is always a elderly, charming, flower obsessed British man that has created the varieties and grown the seed. But I hate to break it those chaps, I want in on their game.

A very long term goal of mine is to get into flower seed production. A gateway to that for me is seed variety trials. I dabbled a bit last year and decided this year to make it official. And of course, I had to do sweet peas first.

Talk to any flower farmer across Canada and your going to hear a similar complaint: where are our local seed houses for flowers? Much of the flower seed being produced and used by cut flower growers across Canada is grown internationally in place like the Netherlands, Israel, and various South American and African countries. Much of this seed is for outfitting large scale, corporate farms that use conventional methods of production and the varieties are selected for the climates of the countries where the seed is originally grown. Because of this, there is a knowledge gap in the performance of varieties in other locations.

Lastly, Canadian flower growers have a difficult time accessing seed, bulbs/tubers and other plant material and, therefore, are lagging behind flower trends and tend to pay higher prices due to currency exchange.

There is an exciting revival of small scale Canada seed houses catering to the revival of local cut flower farms. These seed houses import interesting plant materials, but it is still being produced in the countries mentioned above. Many of our most interesting sweet peas are coming out of New Zealand and England. Which ones would do best growing in Ontario with our conditions, with our types of farming methods, for our uses and if we could figure that out, what one's could we raise for our own seed?

Luckily for me, I have 4 flower farmer friends (Floralora Flowers, La Primavera Farms, Harris Flower Farm and Wendalane Farm) that are willing join me on this crazy mission to try and figure out what are some of the best blush and white varieties for Ontario growers. I'll be acting as the "mother" site, growing all 10 varieties and each of their "satellite" farms will be replicating my results growing 3 varieties each.

Sweet pea extravaganza!I can't wait to be swimming in the ocean of them all!

Thank you to Lauren Kolyn for the beautiful sweet pea imagery from 2016 featured in this post.

I saw this book at the EFAO tradeshow during the conference last winter. I almost passed it by. I'll admit, I judged it by its cover. The word "bugs" I thought worked well in an alliterative title with "beneficial," but it came off unscientific to me--or at least a signaled a gardening book for novices. Boy was I wrong. This book changed my world.

If you really want to see a irritable ecological farmer, ask them how they deal with pest pressure. Barriers, trap crops, and releasing beneficial insects like lady beetles are typical methods. Most producers not using insecticides must plan for a certain amount of damage, which becomes "seconds"-good enough for processing, but not appropriate for direct to consumer sales, where damage can be seen and judged unworthy aesthetically. Its especially true for flower farmers; there's not a lot of room for flower "seconds". Most people want the perfect blossom because their expectations for flowers are shaped by conventional, greenhouse produced blooms. A nibble here and there on a petal is kinda unacceptable. So that leaves field growers like me in a tough place.

One crop where this is particularly apparent is my dahlias. Last year, "annihilation" might have been slightly too strong to use, but not too far off for some of the damage I've seen from tarnish plant bug and cucumber beetle. Below are some examples from other growers of the damage that can ensue.

Those insect jerks!

Dahlias are a very important crop for a flower farmer. Difficult to ship, perishable, and high value, they are key for locally based farmers. And in 5 years of growing them, I've never had a crop I felt really proud of and thats mainly due to insect damage. I was determined to do a research trial after last season to try methods of control, particularly looking at trap crops.

Trap crops involve planting something your insect pest particularly likes to eat, as a distraction to your cash crops--and then typically, then you kill them. Something about this didn't sit right with me. I'm not above killing insects when necessary, but wiping out large swaths (and potentially harming other non-pest insects) did not appeal to me. And reading more in the beneficial insect book, I started to understand why.

Insects communities have similar population dynamics to other predator-prey systems you read about years ago in biology class. Basic premise: as prey populations rise, predator populations rise with it and take down prey until the population sink again. A constantly circulating wave. When outside forces affect one part of the community, the cycle gets out of flux and problems ensue. Its the same on the farm. For every native insect pest, there is are parallel predator insects to act as controls.

For cucumber beetle and tarnish plant bug, one of them is the tachinid fly, a parasitic fly that lays eggs on the head of its prey or inserts them into the hosts body. The eggs hatch and kill its host. But they need the host to reproduce. Therefore, in order to encourage one of the natural predators of my pest insects, I couldn't kill them because I could be killing my new predator populations.

I am no biologist. I don't even have a hard science degree. But I did decent literature review for my trial--trying to understand better the life cycles of the insects involved, their behaviours, how they interact with plants and the habitats they need to live in. I emailed with agricultural scientists in the US and Canada. And I spent a long time talking through my ideas with the staff at EFAO's Farmer-Led Research Program. I didn't want to run my trial like all the others. I wanted to trial a system to see how I could effect those population dynamics and use my new-found knowledge of of pest behaviour to guide my planning process.

But there was a catch. Insect trials, I come to find out, typically use a lot of land and include multi-farm trials. Makes sense when your variables can fly. Lucky for me, I got approval to be one of the first farms to run a demonstration site focused on beneficial insects and pollinators for the FLRP. Hurray! That means there won't be a control for comparison for 2018, but hopefully the data I collect on insect population levels and observed damage, can inform other, more detailed research trial of this nature.

My research protocol isn't ready quite yet, but when it is, you can find it on the EFAO research library. But I'll give you a quick preview for what I hope the trial will entail: I am hoping to use a succession of flower crops (phacelia and alyssum) as a way to attract and maintain beneficial insect populations (who also feed on pollen and nectar), while also planting a succession of winter squash variety as a decoy buffet particularly for the cucumber beetles. If all goes to hell in a hand basket, my backup is what I felt like I had to start doing anyways--wrapping my precious blooms in individual organza bags. Insert a wide-eyed terrified emoji here.

I have one more journal post to share about the other trial I'm doing this season. Stay tuned.

People often ask this time of year what I'm up to. I think my new reply should be: its research preparation season.

During the 2017 season, I was lucky to participate in the Farmer-led Research Program with Ecological Farmers of Ontario. I'm a big fan of EFAO--they host excellent workshops, help farmers like me to run farm tours, etc, and organize one of the best conferences where every year I am impressed by the knowledge, openness and general geekiness of it all.

The Farmer-led Research Program allows their member farmers to apply to receive funding and support to run their own, on farm research trials. For someone like myself who has been endlessly tempted to go back to school to do research, but doesn't have a strong, hard science background and who can't sit for more than 1 hour before getting antsy and wanting to go outdoors, this is the golden ticket. With a curious and skeptical mind, I get to try and solve some on-farm issues or test some organic methods that people recommend, but there's not always research to back it up. With staff support, we craft a trial format and method that suits me and the farm, but can also yield scientifically and statistically meaningful results.

One thing thats big in the organic flower and vegetable world is foliar sprays--applying amendments in a liquid form to plants to provide nutrients or ward off or treat disease. You can spend a lot of time and money on foliar sprays, but I wasn't sure how much of an effect they actually had. So I applied and ran the trial, looking at if seaweed sprays would make my sweet peas longer and if chamomile would protect my lisianthus from fungal wilt diseases.

Not a surprise, being a "field" trial--the experiment and results were complicated. Last season was a cold, wet one. Not very ideal for fungal diseases or a regular farming schedule. I also was not happy with the sweet pea varieties I chose. However, here's the results in a nut shell: the sweet peas grew a bit longer with the seaweed spray and the chamomile spray appeared to have no effect. These results should be reproduced on another year to be more conclusive, but I think I derived some bigger picture conclusions from it:

Its not always about the efficacy, its about the time.With my mechanical backpack sprayer, it takes a long ass time to spray my plants. Even with a positive trend in growth with the sweet peas, I wouldn't do it because all the time it took does not match the gains. A lot of farming is actually weighing the time vs the projected outcome. With a lot to do, small gains are often not worth it unless it is something that compounds and grows over time. With something like a foliar spray that is so temporary (its like a vitamin boost for plants, it doesn't build soil over time, etc), not worth repeating for me.

Interventions are all about the timingWith farming, you constantly have resituate your mind in time and space. Most of life we lead ourselves to believe A--->B---->C: a linear line, one thing completed leads to the next. While we could have a philosophical debate about this in general, I can say for certain, that linear timelines don't work for farming. Its an ever-shifting, interlocking systems of circles that don't have a specific arrival point on the horizon. I think the best of farmers watch closely, take in observations, and try their best to follow patterns that already exist and make small nudges to perhaps steer a process in a direction they believe might be more beneficial. The question is: when to make a nudge?

This year, with my left over liquid seaweed, I'm going to go back to a method I used to use when I was an urban farmer: presoaking my trays of seedlings with water and liquid seaweed. Young seedlings are very fragile when transplanting. A lot of the time, transplanting is a traumatic process--torn roots, broken leaves, a new environment that is not climate controlled. In tough times, I've seen plants just sit, relatively unchanged until they can get over the shock of leaving their trays and being out in the field. In that time, in their weakened state, they also have to set out new roots to feed themselves and form the relationships with microorganisms to extend their reach for food. By presoaking, I'm theorizing that they get the boost when they really need it, where they need it.

The importance of timing was also extremely apparent in my use of chamomile spray as a mild antifungal spray for lisianthus. After seeing there was no statistically positive results in the trial, I went back to my reading.

I did not have my plants tested, but feel fairly confident that they have fusarium wilt. Doing some reading, trying to see if there were better ways of treatment, I ran into a major barrier: fusarium wilt can be seed born and is most definitely present in soil. So how would a foliar spray help? It was so after the fact.

The effects of fusarium wilt aka so long lissies!

What I needed was: 1) clean seed (or a way to test/treat my existing seed. And more importantly... 2) I needed good genetics: varieties of lisianthus that had already been bred to resist this fungal disease. 3) Finally, I needed a way of treating the soil. Most organic farmers, reading the later, would immediately feel their hackles raise. "Treating the soil" can often mean fungicide drenching of the soil in conventional agricultural settings. Micro-organism genocide, not to put it lightly. But there were other ways to reduce wilt fungal populations. I'm still reading, but mustard, rape, and radish cover crops seem to reduce fusarium populations in the soil. These cover crops also have other beneficial properties, so I'll be incorporating them into my cover crop mixes this season. I am also on the hunt for the best lisianthus varieties to trial in 2019, which varieties seem to have the greatest resistance and if possible, pre-testing seed and soil mixes for presence of pathogens before even planting.

What works for humans is not necessarily right for plantsLast November, all of the farmer researchers got together to share their results, pitch new ideas, and generally discuss their projects. During a session I got to meet an interesting, biodynamic wine grape grower. She was looking for treatment methods for mildew infections in her plants--also fungal based. We were talking about sprays and a light bulb flashed in my mind: chamomile is used as a antifungal for humans, but we really have no idea of its efficacy on plants and whether there is collateral damage, killing beneficial fungal organisms. Whoa. Chamomile, as antifungals go, is pretty innocuous, at least compared to other chemically derived products, but what did I know? Even if it was working the way I hoped, killing the fusarium fungal organisms, what happens when you have a "hole" in an ecosystem? What rushes in?

This kicked off a series of deep thinking sessions this winter about creating farm ecosystem balance and how to reassess farm priorities, that continued with me into my new round of research trials.

But I'll save that for next time. Stay tuned for part 2 and what will be happening on the farm this season.

A part of my non-farming life I don't often share is that I dabble as a writer. Yes, "dabble" is the correct word, "putz around" might be a better description of it these days. When I was younger, I dreamed about writing "THE Great Novel" (ha) and wrote a lot of rambling fiction in attempts to get there. These days, I write when I can, a bit of fiction, poetry, and memoir, and try to convince myself to be more disciplined about it.

Anyways, that is all to say, my mind does work like a writers. I enjoy taking quiet observation of events, people's quirks and characters, interesting things I've seen. Generally curious, I like to make a study of life.

Therefore, its my privilege to take part of a very key moment in people's stories: their weddings. Not only do I get to prepare the flowers that grace one the biggest celebrations they will ever plan, these kind couples (and their ever gracious photographers), share some of the photos after so I can use the images to promote my business. Being a farmer-florist, always on the go, I am forever grateful to them for this because I stink at capturing my work before it goes out the door. And, to be frank, my photography skills can't compare.

Its such a pleasure to sit down to these images, these story books of their special days in the winter months. Seeing everyone dressed to the nines, so happy. Their creativity and the uniqueness of each one. The hilarious and spontaneous moments of glee and mischief. The sheer joy and excitement of family and friends. The tenderest glances.

So yah, how lucky am I that I get to "read" these great stories of love every year?

I also feel so blessed to live in a place that celebrates all the stories of love. I was at wedding in December for two amazing women. I found myself deeply moved during their ceremony, witnessing their love and realizing not long ago whatsoever that this was illegal. And where I'm from originally, New York, marriage equality is 6 years old and the Supreme Court only upheld it 2 years ago in the United States!

So thank you to the couples featured in this post, their talented photographers for sharing.

I am not a person who makes resolutions. Growing up, every year I would make solemn vows to do better, be better, strive harder in whatever I'd resolved for that year. Its a common question we ask each other: "What is your New Years Resolution?" After the holidays have passed, we somehow have to make up for the "excesses" of the holidays--too much food, drinks...resting, fun? Its a strangely puritanical reaction it seems to me and makes me wonder if other cultures and countries see less of pendulum swing between "indulgence" and restrictiveness.

But that's just me, I've never been good at resolutions.

However, two experiences this fall made me realize I needed to make two intentions for 2018 and beyond. Somehow, I feel like intention is different than resolution in my mind. I carry an obsession of language from my days as a literature major. Words always have a specificity of meaning and I must admit my bizarre habit of contemplating the nuances of similar words--and yes, looking at the differences in the dictionary. Resolution, in its meaning, is one of finality, completion, and "formal expression." Intention is "an act...of determining"--a fixing one's mind on an action. A lesser known definition of intention is a medical term: "a manner or process of healing."

A standout moment for me was during a discussion about cover crops on farms. Cover crops are grain or legume crops that farmers plant not to harvest, but instead to increase soil health. Its a practice thats been used for hundreds of years, but has fallen out of agriculture in the last 50 years with the advent of chemically derived fertilizers. Recently, conventional and organic farmers alike are reintroducing it into their rotations to benefit soil organisms and increase fertility. But many still struggle to implement cover crop rotations into their plans mainly because it is not a crop that produces something you can sell.

During this discussion, a farmer stood up and told his story. He was an organic grower who had struggled financially. He noticed over time that his soil fertility was becoming alarmingly low. He had used cover crops, but had never prioritized them or cared for them like he did his cash crops. He set an intention: if the rain was coming and he had a choice, to plant a row of cover crop or plant a row of vegetables, he would do the cover crops. Five years later, not only was his soil fertility the best he'd seen, but his farm business was also more profitable. He warned us all, we had to put our farm health first.

The second moment of intention enlightenment I encountered was during a keynote speech at the EFAO conference in November by Shannon Hayes, of Sap Bush Hollow Farm. She described her family's struggle to make a viable farm business in rocky, hilly eastern New York. Her speech was moving, well researched, and hilarious. She centered her discussion around three points:

The problem is the profit

You cannot attain profit until you recognize it.

Overwork destroys profit.

Like many farmers, she and her family had struggled to make ends meet and to pay themselves for their hard work. But with some deep thinking, she recognized that one of the "payments" they were receiving and not "cashing in" was the time and flexibility of being self employed entrepreneurs. And because they did not take time off for rest, they were burning out. They made a radical decision: to take time off. A year later, not only were they happier and healthier, their business was doing better because they had the mental space and enthusiasm for trying new ideas, rejigging their operations to make them more efficient and slowing down to catch mistakes.

So that brings us round to my intentions from 2018 onwards: to put the health of the farm and the farmer first for Sweet Gale Gardens.

What does that mean? I've got a plan for growing crops for the soil and for beneficial insects--not to cut or sell. To feed the organisms that help keep the farm balanced and healthy. If the rain is coming, if there's only time for one more tray to seed, that's what I intend to do first.

It also means I've got time off already booked in my calendar. It means I'm hiring staff for the first time to give me mental space and extra hands. It means I'm making time to travel, eat good food, write, and sleep.

I am not doing this because I believe in the end, its going to benefit me financially. That would be great and I believe its possible, but I know its not a guarantee. I am doing it because I believe its what myself and the farm deserve: better intentions for better health.

In Vermont, there is Stick Season and Mud Season. Stick Season is the undetermined time in late fall and early winter, before the snow has come but the trees are bare. Mud Season is in early spring, after most of the snow has melted, but before the world wakes up.

Typically these times, round about November and March, are the times in the North that people are desperate to rush through. They are ugly and solemn, dirty and cold. They are in-between and uncomfortable and just on the edge of what we want.

I read an excellent article last week called "The Nameless Season" by John Landretti in the March/April issue in 2016 by Orion Magazine (I'm a bit behind in my reading, ha). The article resonated because I was in that nameless season that is November and for SGG, I am halfway between the rush and activity of the farm and the quiet winter period of deep farm planning and visioning. I am not finished with the former and cannot relax into the later. My constant question: What could/should I be doing in this time?

I am wrestling/trying to relax into the in-between of this season and what I recognize, is a bigger in-between time of my business and my life. Because, I know, as Landretti points out:

"In this curious moment, this nameless season, the walls of order drift apart and more space is breathed into the world."

He goes on.

"A popular term for such evocations is liminal. You’d think the word had been around since antiquity, but it’s a recent coinage, made up about a century ago by a French writer and folklorist, Arnold van Gennep. He drew on the Latin word limen, or threshold, to signify the middle phase of a ritual, that strange moment after one has given up a familiar way of being but has not yet come into a new identity."

There is a discomfort being in-between. I think we as humans, for all our quotes of "enjoy the journey" so on and so forth, we like a destination. A resolution. Definition. We like the finality of things within our sight, not sliding around on the edge of our vision.

Right now, when people ask about SGG and how its going, I typically reply, its getting there, building steam. Farms and businesses are not built overnight, but for the first time, I can feel the momentum of it, but it's future identity is not here yet.

I am trying to take the space available in this time period to imagine what SGG can be--really. What it can mean for me, for the people I'll employ, and for my community.

But being in-between is not without its struggles. I have been taking this time to talk with others, to seek mentorship and advice. Recently another farmer said to me that my business was in a "growing pains" period. Her tone was sympathetic, but implied, your not there yet sister and this won't be easy.

I don't remember as a teenager the physical sensation of growing pains. But I remember the year I shot up about 3-4 inches and the awkwardness of a body that I did not feel ownership of, tall and long, that stumbled into things because it was unaware of its own dimensions. I spent a lot of that period trying to make myself less obvious and to cultivate some ounce of grace to make up for the uncertainty of my limbs. However, I also remember, waking in the morning and for the first time, being able to really feel life's potential--that there were things for me to see, do, and try. A teenage stage therefore is the combination of potential matched with awkwardness and uncertainty.

"As such, all things liminal seem to me inhabited by a kind of presence, one that receives us with a peculiar spirit of something like kindly ruin; we are invited into its company, even loved, yet its reception offers us no assurance that we are exempt from the frightful anonymity of its depths, which so calmly absorbs everything from mountains to stars."

It seems to me that only humans are aware of the liminal--or at least we are the only ones who are discomforted by it. Animals, plants have their yearly cycles, but their livelihood is never guaranteed, their destination always a moving target. But somehow they are able to live and find joy in that "peculiar spirit" of the unknown. That is now my goal.

A friend reminded me recently of her grandmothers famous quote: we are always becoming. Right now SGG might be in-between and experiencing growing pains. But now I can really sense the potential, just below the surface, waiting to carry this little farm business into a new identity. The trick is to make peace the uncertainty, yet still work to imagine its potential into being.

I have a fall tradition of taking a short trip with friends after the season is over. Its a tough time to go, there's still plenty to do before it gets too cold to work outside, but the timing is usually perfect for me mentally because I really need something to aim for in the last stretch of the growing season, a needed rest.

Fall is my favourite season. The temperature, smell, and colours of the landscape coupled with a hint of melancholia somehow provide the perfect mix of vigour and reflectiveness.

This year my friend and I did a bit of short road trip through New York and Massachusetts. It wasn't intentional at first, but somehow, it took the route of old, familiar pathways I traveled in my early 20s.

I spent most of my 20s caught between the desire to continually roam and the need to find a place to call home. I am restless and curious by nature. It is no surprise that farming piqued my interest when I was 22. It presented the satisfying mix of physical exercise and intellectual rigour, careful planning balanced with decision making on the fly, steady monotony paired with an ever changing environment. But at 22, the idea of finding a place to live, "settling down" and staying put to farm was terrifying. Then life and the economy took that decision out of my hands. The world markets tanked and I knew better than to try and start a farm.

When I started Sweet Gale Gardens, I was even less sure of my decision. I kept the back door open, always, in case I had made a mistake and had to make a run for it. I was frustrating mix of apologetic and defensive of my choice.

Then a year and half ago I moved to Hamilton and started at my current farm lease. I told myself this was either going to work or I was going to move on to something else. I saw it as a test my business and I would either pass or fail.

But as I worked, I gave the farm my time and attention. Through the slow, patient work that is observing and working with nature, my perspective shifted. As time went on, it seemed less important to come to conclusions as it did to keep thinking and asking questions. Not as exciting to think about what was coming next compared to what was happening now.

I have thought a lot about the word "settle"--fearing its permanence yet knowing I needed some of its stability. I found it comforting to see that "settle", yes, in its more modern context, has more of connotation of conclusion. But its root meaning is simple: "a place to sit." That I can handle. Because after this past week of walking in my old footsteps, its easy to see how I will never arrive; I will not come to a resolution; there will be always more questions than answers and there is always more pathways to walk, planting to do and sentences to write. Its ok to stop and rest a while. The door is still open to the world outside, the breeze coming in. This chair is soft, my body comfortable, my mind at ease.

On the farm, we are on the precipice for production. The season is now pushing towards a crescendo--the music of the land building, but we know it will end soon, leaving only an echo and the slow slide into quiet winter slumber.

Its easy to observe and feel. The bees harvest nectar and pollen with deliberate, searching urgency. The birds are quiet, focused on their grasshopper and seed-filled calories for the long migration ahead. The crickets and cicadas call all day and night--a constant din of insect longing. And the goldenrod blazes bright as the sun until it burns out and steadily turns to ashy brown.

My own mind has forever-ricocheting ping pong balls of thoughts: colliding to-do lists, worries, plans, and observations that has left my skull sore and tired.

I managed to catch and hold down gently those ever eager yet exhausting thoughts for a while this weekend. It was a literal forced campaign of nothingness that involved: removing and reapplying toe nail polish, staring at lakes and bonfires, hunting for moths, contemplating fashion and lichens, naps, food and lazy, lovely conversations with friends. I am trying to savour it like a delicious, reviving meal--drawing out its pleasure and nutrition for the weeks to come.

It has been a good, if busy farm season. A long shot from perfect, but I'd say: just swell.

Maybe I'll report more on it later, maybe I'll just skip and tell you about all the dreams to come.

For now, I'll work on, pushing forward with the rest of life to take it all in before the quiet time comes.

Each farming season presents new challenges. Whereas last year was a trial by fire (read: heat and drought), this year is of water. My rain gear last summer was never worn. This year I wear it weekly, if not daily, and have found myself soaked to the skin despite it, multiple times. Soggy, grumpy farmers aside, the plants are pretty green and happy.

Accompanying said farming challenges are always personal challenges. This year: patience and stress from having to be patient. Wet, cold soils made for the latest start I have ever had while farming. Crops are now behind in growth by 2-4 weeks. And other than working efficiently, swiftly, and giving the plants all the care I can spare, there's not a damn thing I can do about it. Patience has never been my virtue, but rushing, carelessness, and burnout are not options for me anymore. So I do what I am best at: plod along, working with care and attention.

I am proud of how much better I am caring for the field and for myself this year. This is my first spring without back issues and the first time I've finally managed to cover crop my aisles properly and continue a foliar spray regime. Small but monumental in their own ways. I am also accepting more help and saying no more often.

One of the trickiest bits in farming is the Sisyphusian level of work. Weed a row--another rows weeds get bigger. Focus on planting annuals, the perennials get neglected. Email 10 people, receive 15 more.

The stress from the never-ending mountain of work comes out sometimes at at 3 am. I wake up and its like my brain clicks on and the never ending to do list turns on "oh-shit-forgot-to-direct-seed-more-ammi-need-to-get-back-to-that-bride-when-will-I-ever-find-time-to-mow-the-6-foot-tall-grass" and on and on along with farm failure lists.

This happened last week, the morning of a big work day I had planned. None of my usual tricks worked to get myself back to sleep. I laid in bed for a few hours, worrying and being mad at myself that my worrying was causing me to loose sleep. I thought about how tired my body was and whether I'd have enough energy for the day. That's when I had the following revelation:

Stress is the stupidest feeling because it accomplishes nothing. If anything, it prevents you from doing the things you need to be doing. Therefore, pardon my french, fuck stress.

Some people claim that stress can be motivating, helping spur them to some finishing line. Not me. Instead of pushing me forward, its like adding a ball and chain, slowing progress and making it more agonizing than it needs to be.

There are times when stress and anxiety are unavoidable. Illness, climate change, death, injustice, etc are all legitimate causes--mainly because of their uncontrollable nature. However, this is the every day stress of entrepreneurship and farming.

So instead of agonizing over the mountain of endless work, I ask myself, "what can I do in this moment to make this feel less overwhelming? How can I plan the next steps so I'm not carrying stress along with my already heavy workload that I've got to carry?"

I'll leave it there. Try it folks if you too feel like flipping the bird to stress. It helps.

For me, the summer is just beginning. This July, you can come tour the flower fields in all their weedy and bloomy glory. The Farmer + the Florist workshop series continues with a lovely night of food and art-making that I'm particularly excited for. Lastly, an extra special dahlia focused day in August. Check out the workshop page.

We are taught to think of our year according to months and seasons. Therefore, it is April and it is Spring. Being a farmer, I am getting to see how the world does not fit in the tidy categories we like to give it. Instead, there is the time the red-wing blackbirds arrive. When the spring peepers start calling in the vernal pools. The maple sap flow. The snow drops blooming, seemingly always, first. Often, these times feel like a beginning, a marker in which we can say "yes, this is spring." But then the sudden snow storm, the too warm days the stop the sap flow, the rain that dampens the blackbirds song. They are less of a marker, speared permanently in time, announcing its presence, but more of a signal shot in the night that eventually fades into the background again that says "we are here again, for now."

The year seems richer, longer, more detailed and varied getting to observe all these small moments. It helps me let go of the very human-like tendency of needing a strictly linear beginning and end. This is the time of year where the never-ending to do lists begin and where I already feel behind. There is currently a backup in the greenhouse after some weeks of steady cool, rainy weather. Every year I trick myself in the winter months that this year I will be able to get working outside and planting by mid April. But if I paid attention to natural cycles rather than my calendar, I'd learn that it is an unlikely and risky gamble. There are some migratory birds who will push the limits and come back on the cusp of spring. The potential reward is to establish their territory first. The potential risk is their own lives in uncertain weather. I feel humbled that my stakes are so much lower.

As much as nature tempts you with thinking there is some sort of pattern, there will always be surprises. Yesterday, my husband observed barn swallows that had arrived before all the other types of swallows. Irregular. But normal. There is always a bit of chaos with so many variables.

But then there are times when there are large, unusual shifts. This year, migratory birds were observed 2-3 weeks earlier than last year and last year they were 2 weeks early. Those red-wings, which to me are the siren call of spring, arrived in February. Usually their song to me is a cheering relief of winter soon ending. This year I only heard it with dread. To some extent you could argue that these early arrivals are risking what they always risk. But climate changes increases the unpredictability and the length of time that they have to risk before getting in the clear.

I have a tender spot in my heart for April because of two dates on our human-made calendars. One that celebrates mother earth, April 22nd. And the next day, April 23rd, which celebrates the birth of my mother. My mother passed away now 18 years ago so I never got to ask her if she felt any significance in these dates. But I have always marked them as days of celebration and memorial.

But again, here is the problem with dates. They are only one day, one moment to do a thing we should be practicing daily. On April 22nd, I will March for Science. Others may do a lakeshore pickup. Or plant some trees. All good things, but only one day out of 365.

Similarly, with birthdays, we take time to honor and celebrate someone we love for their day of arrival. But how to we treat them, remember them on all other days?

Are we simply moving so swiftly through life that without these markers along the way, telling us to slow down and remember, we would speed right by those that love and sustain us?

I have made it my life's effort to break that linear mold of significance. Observing nature is a part of it. There is nothing like the natural world to smash our understanding of time. Reflection is another part. Like this blog and the deep thinks I fit in while seeding for hours on end. (See how time pulls me back into its language even as I try to separate from it?)

But life also needs action. I feel like a lot of my life has been searching for what I was supposed to do. The fitting thing that would be my testament, my offering. I thought for a while that being an environmental journalist would be it. Then an activist. Then a planner. Then a farmer. I kept looking around me, waiting for the marker, saying "Jessica this is where you begin." But in the mean time, I was already moving, I was already acting.

That's the thing, we all are taking actions every day, and these add up to whether or not the blackbirds arrive in February or in March. We affect both time and space with our choices every day, not just the one moment in the year where we choose to pay attention.

So I say to you: wake up! Pay attention to the wider field of vision! Look up and observe what shapes the clouds in the sky make. Learn the blackbird's call. For pity's sake, go outside and remember what dirt and green smell like. And then slow down and think. Where will the object you don't need go when you tire of it? Why doesn't your building have a compost pickup? Do we need more when so much of the world lives on so much less?

I used to feel guilty about contributing to a cycle of seemingly meaningless capitalism by growing and selling flowers. But then I started to think more about how transitory a bloom would be in vase. There is no room for attachment. It is the end of a life--one final flare of beauty we want to hold onto, but cannot. Even dried flowers have their shelf life. In the end, it all ends up as humus. As we all do, to be fair.

But flowers can bring attention to fleeting, tender moments that are here and go again in our lives, like birth, marriage, death. And those flowers can then be our triggers to remember these moments daily. I will always remember the flowers my mother planted every summer in the window boxes. To me they are a trigger to slow down and remember those now soft and faded memories of her digging in the soil and tucking in bright red and pink geraniums into our rough wooden boxes.

So bring into your home armfuls of the blossoms that make you slow down and remember. Yes, the time they are here is fleeting, but it does not feel so much when you immerse yourself in them. Stop fearing the end of things before you get the chance to really indulge.

My aim is to get involved more with my own precious life and this unique world. As Carl Safina wrote: "One doesn't wait for a revolution. One becomes it."

Somehow farming seems to me like running a race. I've come to recognize the different steps: the deep breath before the shot goes off, the first sprint, figuring out your pace, the long haul, the final bloody push to the finish line, and recovery, breathing normal again.

Lately I've realized there's another step before the rest. The pause before the inhalation. A moment in-between action. That's where I am now.

Funny, I'm not even much of a runner.

Anyways. This time of year is a struggle in its own way. All my fellow farmers are gearing up and getting going. I tend to start second guessing myself--wanting to leap forward before taking a breath or before the shot's gone off. "Oh shit, so-and-so already started x. Am I behind?" This is my mental refrain. But each farm and farm business is unique. Its rhythm's it's own.

I took my first and last big break before the season started 2 weeks ago. Sometimes I have to work hard to relax (yes, there is a contradiction there). But this time it came easy. I even allowed myself to be bored (scary, yes?). I took in sea smells, big green trees, and the ever playful zen of sea otters. I slept a lot. Ate a lot. Walked. Talked. Stared. It was good.

Now back home, I have made an effort not to ruin it by cramming my schedule full.

One last pause before the inhalation.

Some seedlings are already started: lisianthus, delphinium, mint, foxglove, among others. Planning is going well. Next week I start out in the greenhouse officially.

I started a book last week that started with this quote from E.B. White (of Charlotte's Web and Stuart Little (and Elements of Style for all you English nerds out there):

"Every morning I awake torn between a desire to save the world and an inclination to savour it. This makes it hard to plan the day. But if we forget to savour the world, what possible reason do we have for saving it? In a way, the savouring must come first."

I don't know if I have ever read a quote that resonates more. Much of my life has been a bizarre struggle between wanting "to save to world" and to simply enjoy living in it. I have always been one part environmentalist, one part artist/sensualist. I have often felt these are opposing parts of myself, but reading the White quote makes me realize that each not only has it's own place, but its own time.

So right now, I have been learning to savour life.

Soon I will work on the saving.

In March and April, I will march in support of scientists and climate change issues. This season I will be embarking on becoming a citizen scientist by participating in work monitoring birds, amphibians, and pollinators in my area and on the farm. I will also be a farmer researcher, conducting both foliar spray and plant variety trials.

Its impossible to do both the saving and savouring at once or without one another. Saving without savouring leads to burn-out. Savouring without saving leads to jadedness. I truly believe we need to love the world in its beauty to give a damn about it. Flowers, landscape, animals, insects are my gateway.

Strange times. Southwestern Ontario is socked in with an unceasing fog for the last week that somedays does make me feel like the zombie apocalypse is coming.

Then there was Inauguration.

Then there was the Women's March. I have not felt such pride and excitement for humanity since I attended Obama's Inauguration 8 years ago.

There is something definitely in the air.

I went on two misty walks this weekend. After being terribly sick and starting a new winter contract position, I have not been out in the woods properly for 3 weeks. This is an exceedingly long time for me. When I can't get outside, I get this feeling between my shoulder blades and along of the backs of my legs that no matter how much I fidget, I can't release. When I have that feeling, I have to bow to the wild beast in me and get myself outdoors. STAT.

When I stepped onto the trail, a familiar quote entered my head: "I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately."

I feel like too much of my life has been running about, careening from one thing to the next with "Shit. Shit. Shit" hissing in my head.

That is no longer how I choose to live my life or run my farm and business. I have been taking time to set intentions and make conscious, not reactive decisions. The worst feeling in the world is feeling like you can only run and put out fires. And part of this is kindly saying no and knowing what your limitations are. Its a hard, but necessary lesson. I do not know if I hold to this plan of action, my life and my farm will be better. I do not know if my well laid and hopefully well executed plans to attract more pollinators and beneficial insects will make my crops better. I do not know if the activism groups and citizen science I plan to participate in will create lasting change. But I will do it anyways. Because I know it will make me live my life in a deeper and more meaningful way.

One of the next lines of that Thoreau quote goes: "I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life." Sounds a bit harsh? No. I believe in this sentence he is saying cut deeper, hold on harder, use your whole body and heart. Your life is the only one.

In 2017, my husband and I will be married for 5 years. We often look at each other and declare in amazement how fast everything has gone.

The popular phrase is a wedding is one day, a marriage is a lifetime. We can have debates about the relativeness of that phrase for today, but I think it holds true when one considers that a wedding is just one day and the relationship is the thing you continue to work on together for the days to come.

I bring this up because having been married myself, attended a fair amount of weddings of family and friends, and lastly, being a part of the celebration as a florist, I feel like I might have some insight to share. I mainly do this because already 2017 wedding season is started. Inquiries are coming in. Over the last few years I have watched couples deal with the stress of planning their "big day" and feel moved by compassion to share some thoughts. I'll even share a few of my own wedding lessons learned.

First, step away from the Pinterest boards (the magazines, the wedding shows, etc)!

Now that you've stepped back and your eyes feel less glassy, turn to your partner and ask "What really matters to us? What are the things we love? What do we want to share with our dearest and nearest and how do we want them to experience the day? And how do we want to experience it?"

I think its hard for people to start with things like colors, themes, etc because well, its not very natural to label your life that way. Instead, think about the atmosphere, the feeling. Do you want a celebration full of laughter, hijinks, surprises and celebration? Or do you want it to feel cozy, warm, intimate, with detailed touches? Or do you want to be barefoot, dancing, outdoors, and comfortable? Or anything in between? When you have the "feeling", then you can move to the "stuff" and will be able to ask yourself, "Well, this dress is beautiful, but will I be able to do the limbo in it?"

For our own wedding, we knew that we wanted something more casual and whimsical, but still classy. We wanted it to be homemade and local, but well crafted. We wanted people to have enjoy being in a beautiful setting. We wanted to have fun too. And eat. And dance. And we wanted as little waste as possible.

My mom's side of the family has a tradition of smoking cigars and barefoot outdoor dance parties, so we made sure to include some nice cigars to inspire that feeling.

Remember Pinterest, magazines, etc they are tools to help you formulate ideas. They are not lists of what you need or formulas for how to do it.

Don't believe you need all the "stuff".

I have such mixed feelings about the wedding industry because of the pressure to add more and more "stuff" to one's wedding. I got married before Pinterest was really on my radar, but I did have a stash of wedding magazines and google at my disposal. I felt shocked and overwhelmed by what "they" told me I should be having. For Tristan and I, it was fairly easy to shut down those voices because both of us are guided by strong environmental views of "no waste," but it was a slippery slope we had to keep walking up and a lot of noise to ignore while planning.

I found vintage postcards of Niagara Falls-one of the Canadian side, one of the American side. Scanned, copied and reprinted at home, they were the table numbers. I still have the originals framed and hung in our room.

I also sorta hate the magazines and Pinterest because I feel like couples don't understand how they work. A lot of what you see are not even real weddings--they are stylized photo shoots, which are fun, creative ways for vendors to share new ideas, but also don't really take into account affordability. Second, a lot of the real weddings, at least in magazine, don't discuss the cost. There is only a certain percentage of people that can afford to drop serious money on a wedding. Most of us can't. So if your looking at the photos and wondering why your vendor fees are stacking up at alarming rates, stop and assess what matters. Pull out that decluttering mantra of "does this bring us joy" and I'll add, "does this fit with our vision?"

Everyone has a budget, use it wisely and put your money towards what matters.

Tristan and I love to eat. And even before I turned to farming as a profession, local, sustainably grown food has always been the priority of my household spending. Therefore, it was logical to get the best caterer in our area that served as much local, seasonal as possible. We designed our entire menu with them to feature the best food. We even picked the time of year to get married based on when the best food in the greatest abundance was (August and September). And you know what, we used at least half of our overall budget to feed folks.

So where did we cut? A lot of places, but we were still happy with our finds and purchases. I'll even tell you a secret: we spent $400 on my flowers. I got most of them in bulk from a local florist. I had friends arrange them except some arranged pieces for the wedding party from the designer. They were wildflower type flowers. Things you'd find in the field where we got married: golden rod, asters, sunflowers, yarrow, daisies. That's it. Yes, looking back, I wish my bouquet was a different style, but other than that, no regrets still. That's why I still offer DIY and a la carte in my business. I get it.

Nothing fancy here, but colorful and seasonal (please note, do what I say not what I do, always strip foliage before putting flowers in water!)

What I see with a lot of couples is they want it all and all like the photos. For flowers, I'd always recommend, put your money towards the most important pieces, the things that will be photographed the most and in the places that need the most flower power. For instance, elaborate garlands started trending a while back. They are so beautiful and magical. But a lot of time they can only be used for the 20 minute ceremony and they are done. Designers charge a lot for them because they are tricky to make and have to often be installed onsite, day of. If you are getting married outdoors in a beautiful setting, why not skip? But if your in a indoor setting and its kinda plain, maybe do order it.

When you put money and effort towards what matters, it shows and is memorable.

You have a budget, stick to it. Seriously.

This is a big one for me. I have watched a lot of people plan huge, elaborate affairs that that I know they can't afford. It just crushes me to see it. The worst way to start off a marriage is to start off in debt.

Here's the thing, weddings were meant to set couples up for their new household. In some places, its just an elaborate tradition to basically pass the pot around with the understanding that this time, you get the pot of money and later, you'll help contribute to the pot for another couple. Read Committed by Elizabeth Gilbert who writes an informal history of marriage--she talks about this.

Before you set a budget, look at your personal finances. If you are lucky to have family who will contribute, let it be clear how much and to what extent. I think the average is now between thirty and forty thousand. Thats a lot of money. That's a downpayment on a house in some places! Remember, in the end, your family and friends want to see you happy and settled. Not it debt trying to please some made up expectations. Be creative and clear about your budget. Outline what you can spend on each piece of the day. Share that with vendors. It's not gauche. It just saves time. Be clear with what your limits are and make sure you understand all of the fees, taxes, etc included. Give yourself wiggle room. And if in the end, you want to save some of it to have a rocking honeymoon, don't feel bad, do it!

You don't have to invite everyone (unless you want to).

Remember, only your nearest and dearest.

Who are the people that have had significant impact on your lives? That you stay in touch with? That you would be sad if they weren't part of the smiling faces in the crowd?

Invite them.

I know this gets a little controversial. There's etiquette, etc. There's distant aunties. There's family co-workers. In the end, there will be people that you cannot fit. You may even hurt their feelings. But if they have been married or know someone close that has, they will get it. Its a little harder when it comes to your parent's guest lists, but just kindly remind them of those questions. Weddings should not be about tit for tat. I went to theirs so they should come to mine. It should make sense. So if you haven't talked to your university roommate in 10 years, do not feel obligated. If you have to have a small event and you have a large family or social circle, suggest all going out for drinks, or dinner, or meeting up at a park. No presents, no obligations, just fun social time celebrating. I attended a wedding this summer where they had their reception on a Friday and a get together at a park the next day. The wedding was smaller. The park party was a potluck and anyone and everyone was invited. It was perfect.

Emotions will run high on this, but remember, who do you love and want to be there to celebrate?

Traditions are only meaningful if they have meaning for you too

Another controversial one. I know at our wedding we ruffled some feathers on this one, but lucky for us we were just stubborn enough to do it. And you know what, it paid off ten-fold. By simplifying and just keeping what mattered to us, it left time and room for creativity. People like traditions, but too much makes for stuffy affairs. Also don't be afraid to do something new or outside of your traditional background. Careful taking random religious or cultural traditions, but you know what I mean. For instance, two friends of ours are deeply devoted environmentalists, so they planted a tree as a part of their ceremony. Another green pair had their wedding in a science museum (the BEST!). We incorporated a small part of a Quaker ceremony in our own, which was about community support. We're not Quakers, but we are pacifists and needed something about a community blessing that wasn't strictly religious.

So speaking of religion, now I will proceed to myself into perhaps a deep hole by saying consider not having a religious ceremony unless you are religious yourself or its very important to you culturally. I attended a wedding ceremony where within 1 minute I could tell how deeply uncomfortable the couple was. I turned to my husband and said "they don't go to church do they?" and he laughed and said "never." The next hour we watched them stumble and race through the ceremony and man, did they knock back the beers and relax when they got to the reception. Why? Why?!

I know for some faiths, recognition of the validity of the marriage depends on the proper ceremony. Be compassionate but determined. Explain your reasons to you mom/grandpa/uncle and if they still won't budge, let other family members work on them. Or ask them what really matters to them and try to have a compromise.

Do what you can to take the pressure off.

Do you know your mom/grandma/dad/whoever is going to be a stressed out tyrant the day of? Plan for it. Send them to the spa for the morning. Assign a family member to keep them company.

Are you terrified of the ceremony and don't want to do it in front of everyone? Don't! Go to the town hall and then have another ceremony for your family--at least some of the pressure will be off.

You want DIY, but can't do it alone? Assign willing family and friends tasks. They ask to help. Give them something to do with good directions.

You can't afford X, but you really want it? Hire a friend who does it as a hobby, DIY, ask for discounts from new vendors, be creative.

Etc. etc. Remember, you have never (likely) planned an event this large and complex before. You didn't go to school for this. This isn't a part of your job. Be kind to yourself and find ways to let off the pressure.

Find ways to throw your shoes off, literally and figuratively.

Listen to advice, but take only what serves you

I felt like this would be a great one to end it on. Listen to people who have done this before. To their struggles, triumphs and the things they absolutely loved. And then take what works for you and run with it. Leave the rest behind. You've got enough to keep track of. You'll get there and then it will all be over, so make sure you plan to enjoy it? Its the first day of many to come. Its the first work, the first joy, but certainly not the last.

Photograph credits on these to my dear friends Dennis Yuan and Lenin Batista.

...And within 24 hours we went from a sunny, warm fall to winter here in southern Ontario. The wind was whipping something fierce today as I loaded the last of my field equipment into my van to stow it in the barn. I had forgotten how punishing the winds could be in those open fields. I came home--satisfied to have everything done before the snow flew, but a bit mopey (and very wind burned).

I actually could have shut up shop sooner, but I was strangely reluctant to let go of this tumultuous year. Never in my life had I spent more time outdoors in a single year and I think all that fresh air got into my blood and bones. I may have turned feral in my freedom and coming back to domesticity and all of my indoor concerns--business and life--seemed bland and confining.

I do not think nature speaks to us, but we can derive a message from it nevertheless. Today, if I was to interpret, I was literally being blown off. Go home. Get to work. Quit lollygagging. Winters used to seem long, now I know the time they afford to us farmers is short to get caught up on paper work and planning--not to mention sleep and the rest of life.

The thing I have always appreciated about winter is that my mind does settle a bit. Something in the austerity--the silence, the white washed landscape, the darkness--does get me to slow down and think a while. This post is one I have been formulating for a while now. It seems right to share it now.

A great challenge of this season was caring for myself while caring for the farm. My one business resolution of 2016 was to take better care of the most important tool I had: myself--my body and my mind. While I am usually pretty good at getting enough sleep, food, and even squeezing in a massage, I struggle with stress and mental health.

I think many farmers can relate. We supposedly live the ideal life--full of pastoral romance, yada yada. But the truth is, I believe for all of its rewards, farming is one of the toughest occupations out there. Financial instability, physically punishing, multi-tasking to the extreme, and captive to a chaotic environment that is getting all the more challenging with climate change. Early this summer I was so anxious over the condition of my fields, I had trouble sleeping, eating, and working. Where my summer turned around somewhere around July, a lot of other farmers continued to suffer until late August with terrible drought and heat. To be honest, I'd call this season so-so in terms of production (particularly compared to my Everest high expectations in the beginning), but I call it a resounding success because I survived it and didn't come out in debt.

This spring, one of my best friends came to visit and work with me for a few days. We are both entrepreneurs and have shared many struggles and triumphs over the last few years. After a few days on the farm with me, driving home after a long, hot day of transplanting, my friend turned to me and told me how she will never look at food the same way again. She knew then how hard farmers work. And I know the struggle with my business is not half as hard as other farming operations. I am lucky. I don't have everything riding on the success of this operation. If I wanted to, I could walk away and do something else. A lot of farmers don't have those choices. The stakes are very very high.

And we don't talk about it. Not really. Farmer mental health is not really a hot topic. But it should be. With uncertain times ahead, we need our farmers to be healthy, strong, and happy. I grow flowers. You could live without them. But we cannot survive without food. In Canada, I feel blessed because compared to my American farming counter parts, at least I have health care, no matter my wages. But even that comes up short. When I needed mental health support this summer, I paid out-of-pocket. I could afford it and access it easily, being nearer urban centres. Others can't. This is not about farmers accessing a luxury service. Its an urgent food security issue.

In the end, with the help of my loving therapist and a whole lot of personal work and surrender, I am a much healthier and happier person than ever before. I chose to tell people, however, that I was struggling, which was not easy, but I felt necessary. I had so much support and enthusiasm. But a lot of other farmers out there may not be ready to share. It has taken me a long long time. What can we do for the farmers who cannot speak out yet?

Ask them how they are doing. Don't just tell them how wonderful their life is. What do they need for support? Do not waste the fruits of their labors. The local movement is more than a trend. Its a relationship that goes beyond consumerism. Honor and love your farmers. They feed you and your families. Even we flower farmers are trying to feed your souls in our own small and colorful way.

I will end things there. One change you will see soon on this journal and on my Instagram account is a little more focus on farming and flowers and a little less of nature and wanderings. Don't worry, that part isn't going away. I just decided it was time to put that writing elsewhere.

I just began reading The Invention of Nature, a book about one of the greatest scientists, Alexander von Humboldt. In 1869, a century after his birth, in Europe, South America, and the United States, there was a massive celebration with lectures, dedications of statues, and massive parades. Even Syracuse, NY, where I attended graduate school, had a parade of 15,000 people.

By now, I'm guessing your scratching your head or heading to Google. Your not alone. One of the most famous men 150 years ago has slid to the back of our text books and our minds. The author of The Invention of Nature, Andrea Wulf, is trying to bring our attention back to him again--and particularly to some of his greatest scientific conclusions: that nature is an interconnected web that has consequences when one part of it changes.

Alexander Humboldt was a great explorer and scientist. He was one of the most respected naturalists of his age.

As I read the introduction to this book that described the centennial celebrations of his birth, I felt deep sadness in light of current events for the way our scientists are treated today. People that dedicate their lives to long, sometimes tedious and monotonous, and underpaid work that illuminates the world for all of us, face budget cuts, government censorship, and even ridicule and death threats. The amount of distrust for these tireless and unthanked individuals is not only depressing, but baffling. How quickly people dismiss climate scientists, but forget that everything that makes their lives better: modern medicine, safe transportation, readily available food had an inquiring mind of science behind it.

The beauty of science is that it all based on a simple method, used by all, and constantly tested and questioned by a body of knowledgeable peers. Observation. Hypothesis. Experiment. Analysis. Conclusion. Repeat. It is democratic, unbiased, and constant.

I take comfort in this system, just like I take comfort in nature which does not favor one organism over another, it is chaotic but constant in its chaos, and does not have a predestination for anyone. Maybe that is why people fear both science and nature--because it does not have a plan or favorites--and that will never change. The only faith I have is in that blind ambivalence. Somehow it is comforting to me--that my life has no greater or lesser worth or meaning than any others. But I know that's not what most people want to hear. Securing one's place and prosperity for many is important above all else.

This does not mean that scientists do not falter under the prejudices of their times, political or corporate pressure, or their own egos. But science is inherently reflective in order to question it practitioners and their results. Test it. Again. And again. And again. Compare results. Start again. Other people test it. Review it. Question it. Again.

I think this points to another reason why people become distrustful of science. They want constancy. They want rules, written down and hollowed. As much as people want change, they fear it also. Science holds that no one idea is perfect--it only holds until the next scientist comes along and disproves it. The only constant is the method and the system.

I understand the fear. Generally, most cultures uphold characteristics like constancy, loyalty, stalwart, etc. We look down upon changing characteristics as flippant, mercurial, rebellious and even traitorous. We want people, our governments, our homes to be better and change, but we can't help our discomfort when they do.

I know that fear. I have held that metallic taste in my mouth and had to swallow it up and move onwards. But what we don't talk about how with change there is hope.

Science can seem untrustworthy because while it is democratic, unbiased, and constant, it also questions everything it delivers again and again. We get complacent knowing something only to be told that it isn't quite that or entirely wrong. Science is not meant to reflect us though and our yearnings. It is a reflection of the world itself.

This week, my wish is for more of the world to see the hope and wonder in change. To embrace it, despite it being scary. To have some gratitude towards scientists and defend them and their work.

I want to understand the world better. I want awe and discovery. I want to walk with clear eyes, mind, and heart through this world that has no aim.

Of all of my life experiences, I think farming is the most humbling of all. The summer is now petering out, despite the most recent heat wave, I believe fall is coming. I went from overwhelming abundance in July and August to relative scarcity in the last couple of weeks. Those hot summer days finally caught up to the fields--making for a huge flush of flowers and now--poof!--half of them are done.

Of course, this causes panic and anxiety. I can't continue all of my orders. I have to say no. But there are rewards. I've already started planning for 2017. I'm excited to do all the prep I couldn't last fall when I couldn't access the land. I have tempting daydreams of maybe being ahead of the curve next spring. Maybe.

I've slowed down. A bit. I think I'm working a more normal amount of hours. I feel guilty because my fellow incubator veggie farmers are really at their peak now--hustling hard through the exhaustion. Instead, I finish eating my breakfast in the van in the morning, parked in the field where I can watch my greatest entertainment of the season: the hummingbirds. Four of them chittering, diving, buzzing, bustling and once in a great while, they too sit, motionless, taking in their kingdom of flowers. Not mine. Theirs.

This is a journal post I have turned over and over in my head these past few months, trying to complete the posts I started long before this past winter about community. Because, the thing is, I really, truly see those insane, miraculous little birds as part of my community. And I want so desperately for others to see them that way too.

I realized two very important things this summer. About myself and others. And it was all because of a silly, little raccoon.

I came into the barn, sometime in July and saw this guy hanging outside my window.

At first, yes, I thought, shit, he's dead. But after I creeped up to the window, I realized, no, he's just sleeping. I watched him constantly, over the next two days as I worked. He wasn't sick. Just took a fancy to the shady, safe spot the barn offered. Then he was gone.

And I'll tell you, that silly little raccoon twisted my heart with the most intense awe and passion I felt half ridiculous.

It's not that I haven't seen them before. In Toronto, they are as common as rats or squirrels. It wasn't that it just cute. Or likely an orphan. It was that in those few days, I literally had a window into his life. I could watch, unobserved, for hours as I worked in the barn.

The greatest gift of my farming work is that everyday I get to watch. The hummingbirds whizzing by. The butterflies lilting among the flowers. The grasshoppers jumping away from me in waves. The storms rolling over the fields. The seagulls circling in the sky.

Bearing witness to nature is the greatest honor and reward in my life.

But as I realized this, I simultaneously knew, if I had different job, I would not get to experience this and maybe this is the key to the general apathy seen in the world in regards to environmental destruction. If you don't actually see and love a thing, how can you mourn its lose or better yet, fight tooth and nail to save it?

There's a quote that I love by Georgia O'Keeffe, a famous America painter who often painted huge, close ups of flowers. One day at market, I started to write it on my sign and stopped. Somehow it seems controversial, too demanding. But after this summer, I want to embrace it. I want it on the landing page of my website. I want it on my cards. Maybe I even want it tattooed on my very skin because I see now how important it is.

"When you take a flower in your hand and really look at it, it's your world for the moment. I want to give that world to someone else. Most people in the city rush around so, they have no time to look at a flower. I want them to see it whether they want to or not."

So I will say please: go out into the world. Leave the sidewalk. Go into the shade of the trees. Seek out those tall grass fields. Walk with bare feet through the streams and along the shore. You must go out. We all must to really see it. Because only by seeing can we understand. And by understanding begin to love it. And by loving it, we will then, and only then, fight for their lives.

For a few weeks, I decided to quit after this season and do something else.

And then, realizing how giving up and moving on were not so scary and that no, farming did not have to be my soulmate, I renewed my love for it and decided to try again and do better by it and more importantly, do better by myself. Maybe for a year only, maybe for the rest of my breathing days. I don't know and don't ask me because I have no idea.

The only thing that is constant in this crazy world is its chaos and unpredictability. This is hard to accept and I don't embrace it easily, but on days like today, I can be friends with it.

I have come off of 3 back-to-back 12-14 hour days. I meant to sleep in. Instead, I woke up at 6:30 feeling full of beans. I decided to go rogue. Today, serve myself by doing what I please for work and play. Tomorrow I will work. Sunday I will rest. Today, I will ramble, which in my heart, I know I do best. So far, I made blueberry pancakes. I played with my cat. I listened to celtic music (yes, I am that nerdtastic). I wrote this post.

Not sure what I will do next. Likely, swing up to the farm, clean up the whirlwind after 3 busy days. Later, will celebrate my hubbies bday by stuffing ourselves with food.

I always revel in playing hookie. Glorious freedom.

There's more I would like to write about. About butterflies and where they go and what they do, the best flipping "wedding" I went to last week where the couple got married two years ago, how SGG may be moving forward and changing in the coming years, and as always, the wonders I have witnessed from just being blessed with a job that takes me outdoors every day.

Today was one of the sorts of days no farmer really talks about—at least to non-farmers. Especially farmers don’t blog about it or take photos of it or share it on social media.

On a farm, there are ten thousand annoying, frightening, boring, frustrating, infuriating, screaming moments in a season. Yes, people write about the hard times—hail storms, crop failures, death of animals. Somehow I think sharing this and all the thousands of rosy, sunny days is so much easier. But you know something, I want to see more people saying, “Man, I just had a bull shit day.”

I just had one of those days. I weigh carefully what to write about, what to share, what to crack a joke about. There’s a strange pressure I think we farmers feel to present the most beautiful, moving, and challenging moments and not to complain because there is an image of our lifestyle to uphold for the masses working in the office cubicles many of us left behind. Yes, I love being outdoors, doing physical work, being around beautiful flowers. But I deal with my fair share of stress and disappointments—and most of it isn’t romantic.

Today I brought some parts from my irrigation in to be fixed. Thought it was fixed. It wasn’t. I wasted a whole day to have nothing solved. Its not the guys at the shop’s fault. It’s not mine. It’s faulty parts and who knows what. I also am fighting with a computer slower than my desktop from the 90s. Oh and recently I had a really shitty auto repair bill and my car insurance bill came just came in.

Boring and sorta annoying right? But that’s my life—at least today.

There’s few things that get my goat: people not being considerate or not listening, feeling stuck and wasting time. Those are some of the top ones—and spinning my wheels, especially dealing with things I don’t fully understand—auto, irrigation, machinery, technology—really tests my patience.

And sometimes my patience fails. I have enough to give it a good ol’ girl scout try, but there comes a time when I say, screw this and this day, I’m going home. I am done.

Today was one of those days. I came home. I made myself breakfast for dinner. I wrote. I am going to watch Netflix and try to get up the enthusiasm to seed some flats. My life today.

And you know what? I want to see more people’s days like mine. All the sunshine, flowers, and perfection is too much for me after a while. It used to stress me out—why didn’t my farm look so perfect, the flowers so long? Why are the farmers always so clean and I am covered in filth? Why were all their posts about how much work they accomplished that day and why did I feel so behind? Beware this social media pitfalls my fellow farming friends. Social media helps people construct the image they want to project. That’s cool, but I want some more brutal honesty without a moral in the end of it or a positive spin. I want more farmers to stand up and say “this sucks!” and end it there. Because that’s how it is sometimes. That’s real life. I don’t want to hide it any more.

So enjoy this, social media, and no, you don’t get a photo of the delicious breakfast sandwich. I ate it all already. So there.

Farm Notes From Sweet Gale Gardens

Want to know what's in bloom and what's happening with the SGG team on the farm? We'll send short, sweet flower filled emails to you highlighting stories from the farm, what's blooming in the fields, and any upcoming events we're hosting. That's it. And maybe a flower poem or two ;)